"Why so glum?" Queenie asks, stifling a laugh. "Blonde suits you well after all!"

With abundantly suppressed dissatisfaction, I trudge on across the forest floor of Albania. Treetops high above me again, leaves under my feet. Once more wandering in a foreign place in the damned hope of finding answers …

"Smile for a change, Blondie," Queenie pleas.

And I can see it in her mimic. She'd love to say out loud how nervous she actually is. Rumour has it that the German Wehrmacht is gaining more and more control in this area to secure the withdrawal of units from Greece …

So I smile for her, at least like the cynic I am. "I look like some infamous novel character that likes to go hiking – let's not sugarcoat it."

"You'd make a decent Mr Bingley on the ramble, yes." She tries not to laugh while Vivian can't hold it in any longer anyway.

"Glad to see you so cheerful thanks to my new looks beneath the Albanian Alps," I grumble, but I almost have to grin myself as the two of them lean against a tree until they can regain their composure.

"Tom, really," Vivian chortles as we walk on, "you're a far too bad-tempered decoy, I'm sure it won't work like that …"

Queenie gulps. "And then we all die …"

"Maybe we ought to start our dissidence by you not calling me by my real name," I impatiently reply.

"Sure, yeah." Vivian is quick to nod. "I'll remember it. What was the new name again?"

"Vivian, I'm about to explode, you can't be –"

"Maxim!" she hisses, all amused. "I know, I know – it's Maxim. You're just so wonderfully upset …"

Since Ophelia recently mistook me for a Maxim – and the parallel to the murderous Mr de Winter in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca seemed fitting to me – that's who I'll pretend to be now.
Wherever that may lead us.

"What are you going on about so quickly, Nagini?" Vivian asks, obviously alerted. "I was only joking!"

"I sense … presence," Nagini whispers, turning around frantically. "We need to stop joking. Stay behind the trees! Be quiet!"

Queenie immediately looks tense. "Soldiers?"

"Shh!"

Vivian squeezes her hand for comfort as she hides behind two ancient deciduous trees with her. I stay in a little distance away, but Nagini continues unperturbed until she transforms into her snake form and silently glides across the forest soil.

"What are you up to?" I whisper after her.

"Wait here!"

"What did she say?" Vivian murmurs over to me.

Shaking my head, I stare at her so she'll remain quiet, but it's not long before Nagini returns and winds herself around the tree I'm standing under.

"No soldiers, but protection and deception spells – we're just outside his camp," she whispers, sidling over my shoulders onto the ground again. "Go on without me, you need to get down the hill – I'll can give you cover."

"No Wehrmacht, magic," I quietly inform the ladies, taking another sip of Polyjuice Potion from Jim's flask – he insisted on providing it for me when we left – and then nodding to my tense companions. "We'll keep following the path."

"Tell Queenie to lead the way," Nagini hisses, and exactly the very one looks at me with concern.

"I clearly heard my name." Her eyes widen. "What?"

"Don't worry," I reply, waving it off, "I'll go ahead –"

"No," she says, gently but firmly, pushing me back. "Nagini's right – if you run ahead you'll be dead in an instant."

I sigh in disbelief. "One might think he's overdoing it a little with his paranoia."

"Maxim," Queenie retorts, "if you're going to terrify the world, you'd better become paranoid, too. And – I always notice this – I guess it's also part of the role to talk for an awfully long time before you kill someone."

I stay close behind her and Vivian, but I can't help asking the question. "What do you mean?"

"They talk and talk, these tyrants," Vivian replies. "Once efficient and clever, the more powerful they become, the very thing they seem to love most is to indulge in endless monologues."

Queenie nods. "Then sometimes the target even escapes because a favourable opportunity presents itself – simply because they have to hold their speeches."

"Is he like that?"

"Depending on the mood of the day, yes …"

"You can get rid of that sneering expression right away," Vivian admonishes me. "Remember – you're a somewhat shy boy, moderately talented, polite and humble. Most of all humble."

Faking just that will probably be harder than eventually creating a Horcrux, but I nod in agreement.

"Now, hush," Queenie whispers. "They might hear us."

Nagini is close to me. Huge as she is, she seems well hidden among the branches, foliage and moss below us. And as we follow the forest slope down, cautiously approaching the clearing, we see absolutely nothing special, let alone a camp.
Yet magic is in the air.

And before we know it, someone steps out of nowhere with a wand aimed at us – and plenty of company.

Queenie raises her hands with a nervous smile. "Oh, here we go," she says, biting her lips, "looks like we've found you!"

"Who are you?" we're barked at. The man must've spent quite some time in this forest, at least he smells like it. His beard is unkempt and his glance deliberately insane. I can't help but think of my uncle …
"No lies!"

"Lies?" Queenie purrs. "Good man, you don't seem to know us – we'd never lie. We were already in his service back when you couldn't even hold a wand!"

"Well, well," we suddenly hear a deep voice rebuking, "is that the way to treat a queen?"

And as Gellert Grindelwald, visually just as flamboyant as on our first encounter, also fades the rest of his illusion spells over the camp, we gulp for a moment.

A gigantic tent amidst many smaller ones reveals itself behind him, and the Dark Lord has acolytes of all ages and backgrounds gathered behind him, all staring at us with their wands raised.

As he further approaches us, he has two brawny Rottweilers heeling in utmost obedience, yet their watchful gazes become the equivalent of well-mannered menace.

"Come now," Grindelwald soon sighs to his most eager helper directly in front of us, "lower your wand."

The man instantly does as he's told, Grindelwald continues drawing closer to us with his arms held behind his back, giving Queenie and Vivian a wan smile. As though it was a nice Sunday stroll with puppies, and yet we all know that at any second he'd be ready to summon a thunderstorm or have a face bitten off.

"Children …" He surprisingly spreads his arms. "It's been so long! To what do I owe this rare honour?"

"Gellert," Queenie almost whispers, bravely smirking, "we are family, aren't we? It was only a matter of time before we came home."

He chuckles to himself and then proceeds to eye Vivian, too. "You must be quite bored, I gather?"

"Quite the opposite," Queenie claims, drawing his gaze back to her. "I was even afraid to come back."

"But not because of me, I hope?"

Shaking her head, she reveals to him, "The Germans are said to be also infiltrating Albania by now. You've shown us … All of it … The horrors of this war. At the Père Lachaise …"

"The No-Majs are not yet finished with their destruction," he says, in supposed melancholy. "But you know me – I'd never let anything happen to you in my presence. Artemis, Apollo, is that not right?"

The dogs bark right at his notion and Queenie but anxiously giggles. "You two can't wait to rip a soldier's leg off, huh?"

"They aren't choosy indeed." Grindelwald radiates cruel calmness. "But I am." His steady, piercing gaze falls on me accordingly. "So who do we have here?"

"The actual reason for our visit, Gellert," Queenie hastily clarifies, "Maxim … He knew we could lead him to you. He wants to meet you."

The dogs growl as though they could smell my true intentions, but a single wave of their master's hand silences them while he scrutinises me.

Still the heterochromia of his eyes seems like a testament to the qualities united in him. Charm and terror, love and hate. Care for his own, and domination for all others.

And quite obviously my face irritates him to the extreme. I remind him of someone, exactly as it was intended. He keeps examining my features, but before he can say anything, we hear an enraged witch whisper curses behind us.

"Is that Queenie? What's she doing here after all these years?"

"Vinda," Grindelwald calls out to her sternly. "Come here!"

More faithfully and faster than even a dog probably would, she trots up to him.

"Why so brisk with our guests?" Grindelwald looks at her reprovingly. "You remember each other from the past, children – be kind to each other …"

He has an easy way of pressuring people, even if they don't owe him any obedience. He does not threaten them with words, and yet they know well enough what might happen to them if they ignore his will.

"Vinda Rosier," Vivian says, fluttering her lashes in what I know to be sarcasm. "It's good to see you well and alive."

"Oh, indeed," Queenie claims as well. Her mock politeness is clearly more convincing than Vivian's, but Rosier also has obvious difficulty swallowing her displeasure in front of Grindelwald.

"Vinda," he murmurs, "say, did you hear that? The young man wants to meet me."

She nods, nothing but darkness in her eyes for me.

"What could it possibly be about?" he asks and starts circling me with his arms folded behind his back again. By now, many of those present have moved a little closer to us.
We seem to be quite the spectacle …

"Does he want to serve the Greater Good?" Vinda suggests.

"He does," Vivian immediately confirms.

I hold Grindelwald's cold and probing gaze in the light of these words right as he comes to a halt directly in front of me.

"Are the ladies right?"

Unabashed cynicism is on the tip of my tongue, but I hastily remind myself who I have to be for this to actually go according to plan.

"Yes, sir," I hence plumply say, nodding in naive confidence. "After everything Vivian told me, I knew that one day I would be standing before you. I'm ready – I wish to help."

"He's ready," he repeats aloud, turning around to his people. "Do you hear that?"

Gloating laughter from all sides, but I couldn't care less.

"How do you, of all people, intend to be of help to me?" Grindelwald then asks, raising his brows. "Tell me that, my boy."

"He's loyal," Queenie is quick to vow. "And clever, Gellert, he might actually be able to help you. With the Hallows."

"That he can?" Grindelwald's suppressed anger is radiating into the air at once. "You're hardly of age – where were you trained if you're said to be capable of such things already?"

I'm about to reply when Queenie claims, "Koldovstoretz."

"The Russian Academy?" Grindelwald marvels as Queenie smiles away her nervousness, but I barely can't help but swallow.

This wasn't part of the plan.

Is she losing her mind, trying to kill us all?

I know exactly one sentence in Russian, if I remember Gwen's words at all … So if, in the worst case scenario, Grindewald wishes to hear –

"You know Russian?"

"Oh – yes, sir," I'm immediately forced to bluff, yet I feel warm doing so. That is the worst case scenario.
Braving the gap.
Time for that one sentence …

"I grew up in England, but my destiny soon led me further east. As they say … Jazyk do Kieva dovedjot. Your tongue can get you all the way to Kiev."

"Well, well …" Grindelwald beams, stroking one of his dogs stoutly. "Artemis, did you hear that? Queenie brought a prodigy to us – we haven't had one around here for a long time … What did you say your name was, son?"

"Maxim," I repeat. "Sir …"

Apollo approaches me with a grim look. His massive jaw could indeed effortlessly separate a soldier's arm from their body – and also my leg from mine at any time …

Animals sense our intentions, that's probably why he growls at me, and Grindelwald finds it too interesting at once. It's downright treacherous …

What would Rouvenia, with her knack for animals and fantastic beasts, do when the most powerful black magician of our time was questioning her with his biting Rottweilers involved?

I guess she'd act innocent.
So I bend down to Apollo and look deep into his eyes. Legilimency will hardly work on a dog, but –

Oh, look at that …
This is unexpectedly convenient.
Apollo is not a Rottweiler – not exclusively. Grindelwald must thoroughly enjoy surrounding himself with Maledicti …

He comes closer and falls silent, then tilts his head and actually lets himself be petted.

"He usually bites," Grindelwald almost whispers, eyeing me skeptically.

I can hardly allow myself to reply, I can't raise suspicion.

"Animals tend to like me," I therefore lie as modestly as I can manage, glancing up at him in a deliberately naive and uncertain way.

"Something Vinda can't say for herself." Grindelwald peeks at her and her arm, and that's when we, too, notice huge scars – clearly bite marks.

She gives a stifled sigh and pulls the sleeve of her coat a little lower before nodding in trepidation.

"All right, Maxim, enough playing with the dogs," he then says, already turning away to head for the tents, closely followed by his Rottweilers and followers. "Time to pass through the fire, son."

Queenie takes my hand, as unobtrusively as she can, and I hear her thoughts.

That she needed a school that surely no one else present ever attended – and that I can't possibly survive passing through the fire.